I do not own anything here, nor am I making a profit from this. It is purely to pass my time, and hopefully, interest other people. J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.

Thank you for the reviews, Ritsuki Yonsago, Angel-Miyu, LieatWill, doyou000me, violetkitty02, and MirrorFlower and DarkWind! They made me smile for hours :)

I'm still attempting not to ruin it, so I hope you all like the chapter - I couldn't leave it on a cliffhanger like that, I felt too mean hahaha. Hopefully it gets slightly happier from here on out. :)

Chapter Four - Your bed, or mine?

It took Harry a particularly long time to find the strength to open his eyes. He knew he was conscious, because he could hear the shuffling of feet as someone paced through the room. He could hear cheering from outside, a distant, unfamiliar sound. He recognised the fact he was controlling his own breathing in an attempt to remain still and calm.

He realised he was still alive, despite the happiness he had felt with his last thought. His hopeful last thought.

Harry remained perfectly still, breathing in and out, refusing to move.

What if he couldn't move? The fear that had stricken him when he realised that he was numbing and steadily losing control of his limbs was fresh in his mind, repeating like an avalanche each time he thought he had gathered enough courage to try to move again. If he couldn't move, and instead was destined to live in his bed, paralysed, he would pay his entire fortune to have a time turner, and go back and simply let Voldemort kill him properly the second time. And he would do it with a grin and a bow. No, the fucked up thing called 'Destiny' had already screwed Harry over enough for one year…paralysing him would be bloody smash his head in when he was down…and only then would the kick come.

Harry slowly opened his eyes, fighting the wave of nausea that hit him as he stared at his still body. He glared at his hand, calling each and every miniscule spec of courage he had left…and his finger twitched. Oh, thank Merlin!

Harry sighed shakily, clenching his fist and lifted a trembling hand to his face, pure relief coursing through him. He wasn't paralysed. Pomfrey had fixed him again.

He could go on living this very unfulfilling life.

Harry dropped his hand again, shaking his head in disbelief of his own foolish fears. He yelped the next second, hastily lifting his hand again. Touching the soft blanket had hurt, a sharp jab of pain lacing through his fingertips. It had felt different, more pronounced.

Barely even breathing, Harry dropping his hand again, running his fingers over the blanket and shivering at the touch. It was coarse and unsteady, like running a hand over gravel. He half expected his hands to be bleeding, but they only stung viciously instead. Huh. Only.

Harry's head jerked around as Pomfrey came bustling over, shaking her head sadly and not blatantly not meeting Harry's eyes. "What's wrong with my hands?"

The nurse sighed obvious relief as he though, her entire body sagging as if some great weight had suddenly been removed from her shoulders. She slumped onto the bed, her hair frazzled and her eyes bloodshot. With trembling hands did she check Harry's pulse, her wand disregarded. Thankfully. Harry wasn't even sure she could hold it straight at the moment, let alone cast a spell.

"…What's wrong with my hands?" Harry repeated, swallowing to try to withhold some of his rapidly growing anger. She still ignored him, instead lightly touched his wrist.

Harry yelped and jerked away from her, as if burnt. He could feel every groove of her fingerprint, the ragged skin blazing as it pressed into him.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with me?"

Finally, finally, Pomfrey flickered her eyes to meet Harry's fearful ones, hastily turning back to stare intently at his hands instead. "Your magic was more aggressive this time." She managed to get out, and once she had started, continued on ruthlessly. "It tried to shut you down. It immediately started to shut down your nerves and sensory cells; I believe that was the 'bubbles' you felt. It spread down your arm, to the rest of the body, shutting off organs as it went. You're lucky you got here when you did!" She snapped, suddenly jerking to her feet and glaring at Harry. "What were you doing using spells? And outside of class no less! What were you thinking?"

"I was maintaining inter-house unity." This was unbelievable. He had bloody stopped a fight occurring, one that would have been disastrous, and he was the one getting yelled at?

"Did it work?"

"Yes." Harry snapped back at her, rolling his eyes. How dare she? "Tell me what's wrong with my hands!"

"You hurt your nerves and sensory cells. I've already told you that." She sniffed, reminding Harry remarkably of his aunt. His liking for the nurse went down a notch, accordingly. "They're repairing themselves, but in the meantime, they're working overload, and are clearly sensitive."

Sensitive? It made the blanket feel like gravel, her hands torturous. He could feel every crevasse of his clothing, heavy and uncomfortable over his body.

"When will it be…back to normal?" God, did he want the answer to this question?

"…In a few hours at most." He literally sagged with relief, chuckling without mirth as he realised what he had narrowly avoided. He was going to be okay, only a few hours of discomfort. And an entire Gryffindor house snapping at him for the rest of the week. And the entire Slytherin house cursing at him for the rest of the week. So, all in all, nothing much had changed. He had got off relatively scot free.

"What time is it?"

"Nearly lunch."

"If I'm not there, they'll all notice, and I don't have an excuse. I'm fine now, right? Only a bit sensitive?" Harry sighed as the nurse glared at him again, puffing herself up and tittering away as she tried to find an excuse to keep him locked in here. He overrode her when she went to talk though. "I've already told you and Professor McGonagall that I wish to remain as normal as possible. You both agreed. If I'm absent too much people will notice."

Pomfrey just continued to glare at him, shaking her head in disbelief. Eventually, she tossed down a few viles onto the bed, stalking away furiously. "You're to stay here another hour." Her tone left no objections, but as soon as she had entered her office, Harry had already downed to potions and was out the door. He knew he would have to stand her wrath tonight, but in the meantime he couldn't care less.

Harry swallowed as he sped through the halls, cringing as his toes flexed around the uncomfortable, not so soft anymore socks. He folded his arms, snatching them away again as his hair felt like coarse wires. He blinked, amazed at how heavy his eyelids were now, at how bloody bright the sunlight was.

It was a strange experience, to say the least. He shuffled through the halls, everyday activities now difficult and uncomfortable. Only a few hours. He only had to put up with this for a few, miniscule hours. Compared to his thoughts when he was first awake, a little sensitivity was nothing.

Harry entered the hall cautiously, his eyes heading straight to the Gryffindors. As soon as he entered his peers turned to him, their faces all tangled between disbelief and fury. It was to be expected, but it still hurt as he sat down and suddenly the bloody first years were shuffling away from him, further down the bench. Really? Really?

He could hear them all snapping at one another, retelling the story to those that weren't present. It was ridiculous. He had stopped a fight, and now they were acting as if he were the plague! Well, they were right there, but it was still utterly stupid.

He glanced towards the Slytherin table, interested to know if his assumption about them had been accurate too. He wished he hadn't.

The Slytherins were all eating, but pointedly watching Harry, their gazes curious, interested. They looked as if they had been given a difficult but amusing problem to riddle out, and were enjoying discovering the answer. The Slytherins smirked at one another, slight frowns covering their foreheads. God, they were all involved in the riddle.

Every. Single. Slytherin.

Even the first years were copying their seniors, staring at Harry and smirking every now and again, the younger ones giggling before they could control their faces. Great. The Gryffindors were furious, to the degree of ignoring him again. The Slytherins were interested in him. Terrific.

…What if Malfoy had told them?

Ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach, Harry reached out and grabbing a sausage to nibble on.

Fuck! A stabbing burning ignited his fingers, his already vulnerable nerves screaming as suddenly molten lava was pressed into his hand. Harry gasped, dropping the sausage immediately and blew on his abused fingertips. They throbbed, from one light touch.

Swallowing tightly, and not knowing what to do, Harry grabbed his fork, startling at the completely smooth and cool texture of it, before stabbing the sausage again. Before attempting to eat it though, Harry ran his fingers over the fork, completely at awe at its perfection. Not a single bump or crevasse in the fork…not one blemish. It was the softest thing he had felt all day.

Eventually Harry thought his meat must be cooled down a bit, so he went to take a bite.

And dropped it hastily as his lips burnt, stinging as though they had been held over a fire. Was everything going to be exemplified like this?

Harry clenched his teeth, staring at his food furiously before shoving the plate away. It seemed fate really did detest him, didn't it? Now it was trying to starve him too.

Something hot and savage suddenly whipped at Harry's back. He shuddered, cringing away from the touch quickly and spun around trying to find the culprit. Stinging jinx. Exemplified hundreds of times over. A welt was already forming over his shoulders, digging into his muscles as his stupid bloody nerves refused to let go of the pain!

Harry snarled, turning to glare at his peers in red. They all looked too absorbed in their meals right now, none of them talking as if it wasn't suspicious enough that they all suddenly had their heads down and faced away from Harry. Bloody hell! He expected them to be angry, yes. He didn't expect them to be this petty to want a trivial revenge.

Another whip curled around Harry's arm, sinking in its teeth and smirking as Harry winced, hands hovering uselessly between his inadequate wand and his susceptible skin. It dulled after a few minutes, but the continuous ache was still there, taunting him, throbbing with his pulse.

Harry glanced around the hall once more, glaring at the Gryffindors, and after a thought about it, throwing the Slytherins a glare too.

He couldn't take it anymore. Everything was too much at the moment. Everything felt like too much.

Before anyone could blink, Harry had bolted from the hall, hands shaking from either rage or hurt.

A few of the first years, and far too many of the second, claimed he had apparated.

.

.

.

Merlin, this day was hell.

Harry sat at his desk, waving his fake wand around watching dully as his classmates all performed their spells with apt precision. No one glared at Harry in this class, they barely looked at him. However, when they did glance his way all their faces lit up with grins or sneers. Harry Potter, Defence Against the Dark Arts extraordinaire, failing to cast a simple shield spell? Karma.

Harry opted for running his fingertips over his fake wand, taking note of any blemishes and crevasses in his wand. Though it was tough against his fingers, and coarse, not at all smooth or gentle…it didn't hurt him to trail his hands over it. Though it was jagged and rough, it was perfect. In its own way.

Harry smiled softly to himself, another counterfeit one, as considered this. Though his magic was trying to have him killed, his wand would always be there, sturdy, to protect him-

Harry gasped as his inkwell exploded, the chilly blue ink running down his arms and across his uniform. God, it was so cold. Worse than ice, or a chilly breeze…the ink felt like death, slimy, crawling over his skin…

Harry left the room without a word, not giving his friends that satisfaction…it wasn't really their fault. They thought they were doing harmless pranks, not that it was seriously hurting or scaring Harry. And it wasn't. Not in the slightest.

The water was worse than the ink.

Harry blinked heavily, cringing as the water slapped against his skin.

He couldn't take much more of this.

.

.

.

Harry stared at his food stubbornly, his right hand still throbbing at his attempt to pick up a chip. It was pathetic. Harry verses his magic…Round fifty three goes to his magic. Nil to fifty three. Merlin, this life was pathetic.

Harry glanced over at his friends, who had sat closer than they had at lunch. Hermione kept glancing at him and smiling softly, so obviously she was over the fight. Ginny had moved to the Ravenclaw table to sit with Luna rather than him, and Ron had looked like he had been tempted, but words from Hermione had stopped him.

It made him curious to what Hermione had said, to make them ready to forgive him already. After all, they had made some pretty big accusations, and Harry knew how much his stance had hurt Ron…so not even twenty four hours later and they were ready to forgive and forget? Hermione must have said something.

But Harry was perplexed as to what that could be. There was really nothing going for him at the moment, except for trying to stop a fight. And as it was, the Gryffindors weren't that happy about that.

Harry blinked as Hermione smiled at him again, her eyes…full of sympathy? No. Fucking no! He did not want sympathy! What the hell did she say?

"…I thought you lot were going to be mad at me for quite some time." Harry made sure his voice was low, not at all angry or irritated as he sure felt. Said irritation only grew as Hermione smiled again, shaking her head softly as a mother would at something silly a child would say.

"Oh, Harry." Hold in the temper. Do not snap at not lunge across the table. "It's alright…I just…came to realise something."

"…Which was?"

"…You weren't supporting the Slytherins earlier today Harry. God, we were all so blind not to see it."

Harry sat in shock, for once not able to say anything to his friend. He had always given her a lot of credit for being the brightest witch in their age, but maybe not enough. She had thought back to the fight, remembered what he had said, and-

"You don't have to hide it anymore. We know you've developed some sort of phobia to duelling."

-made up some bloody misguided, stupid mess of an excuse. Maybe he should take some credit away? Harry sat in silence for a moment, staring at his usually bright friend and fighting the increasing need to scoff at her.

"I'm what?"

"I know, we're all so blind." Hermione continued in a rush, smiling brilliantly at him now. "I mean, you had to fight and fight and fight last year, and we all know you hated it, and then you had a duel for your life with Voldemort, and it just makes sense that you don't like others fighting, because you know what can happen in a duel, in a spell fight, and you want to avoid that. You weren't sticking up for the Slytherins, you were just…trying to avoid your fear. Then, you don't do any practical work in Defence because it makes you uneasy… We get it Harry, we get it. We've all decided not to duel near you again, until you get comfortable with the idea."

Harry could do nothing but blink. Had they always been this…stupid? He opened his mouth to reply that they could fight all they bloody wanted because he was not afraid to fight (it was just his body didn't allow him anymore!), when an eagle dropped down on his plate, holding its leg out expectantly at him.

What was the eagle doing? It was hours past post…wait. He knew this eagle. He saw it bombard its owner with letters and sweets for years.

Without a word, Harry reached up and took the letter, ignoring the glares around him again.

Still in denial? That, or you've taken an overdose of 'contact exemplifying potion' – useful, but only in bed, and with experience.

It was actually kind of funny. Harry sat in surprise as he realised it had actually persuaded a chuckle to escape his lips. He had laughed. He hadn't laughed in months…and Malfoy had been the one to make him laugh again?

The eagle hadn't left the table yet.

After hesitating once more, he grabbed a quill and scribbled a reply, shocked at his own actions.

And you have experience with a 'contact exemplifying potion'? You'll have to teach me, Mr Experience.

He didn't know if this was wise, but…he had laughed. He had actually found something funny. If he could stay this…bubble for a while longer, it was worth it.

Harry, along with the rest of the hall, watched as the eagle soared back to its owner. The blonde looked mildly surprised in receiving a reply, staring at Harry wirily before taking the note.

He glanced around the hall, rolling his eyes dramatically as everyone stared at him, making some of them shuffle uncomfortably as his gaze landed on them. However, he must have realised he couldn't make the entire hall look away, including the teachers, Harry noticed with frustration, so he instead slowly opened the note.

It seemed the entire hall was holding its breath. Waiting for something, anyway. A fight, the apocalypse, either or.

Harry watched as silent as everyone else as Malfoy read the note, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. He smirked, folding the note into his pocket, and slowly raised his head.

Harry swallowed nervously as Malfoy's silver eyes met his, amusement shining in them. For whatever way he was going to do to utterly humiliate Harry, or from what he had written?

Malfoy ignored the entire hall, pretending they weren't watching and analysing his every move.

And winked.

At Harry.

"Your bed or mine?"

Harry sat there, absolutely mortified as the eyes swung angrily to him. He knew he was already turning red, and was about to use magic, if even to just snap his own neck, when he caught Malfoy smirking at him. He shook his head slightly, amused. It was as if he didn't think Harry had a sense of humour!

Harry quickly turned back to his plate, hand covering his mouth to try to stifle the snort of laughter. This was ridiculous.

And yet, it was making him laugh.

"What the bloody hell did he mean?"

"Harry, what did you send him?"

"What the hell was that?"

"Are you gay, Harry?"

Harry glanced up, red faced and still laughing, to catch Malfoy chuckling himself, fending off a pack of Slytherins, obviously demanding the same questions. He didn't even mind that as people shook his shoulder he could feel their pulse. He didn't mind their touch felt oily, slimy, and rough, as if they were going to leave bruises. He didn't care.

Harry laughed.